“Yes. I wrote down his exact words.” Harbottle turned a page of his yellow pad. “I am confident that anyone who could escape from the KGB in a crate with only half a dozen bottles of vodka for his passage and go on to win the Silver Star, will surely be able to overcome the bank’s current problems.”
“How does he know about that?” said Alex.
“You clearly haven’t had the time to read today’s Boston Globe. It’s published a glowing profile of you in the business section. It makes you sound like a cross between Abraham Lincoln and James Bond.”
Alex laughed for the first time that day.
“But be warned. Ackroyd is every bit as ruthless and resourceful as Blofeld, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he fed his cat on live goldfish.”
“I can’t believe that you’re…”
“Ah, I confess to being an admirer of Mr. Fleming. I’ve read all his books, although I’ve never seen any of the films.”
The lawyer removed his glasses, placed the file back in his Gladstone bag, and folded his arms; a sign that he was about to say something off the record.
“Dare I ask how Mr. Rosenthal’s trip to Nice worked out?”
“It could hardly have gone better,” said Alex. “With the exception of one painting, the entire Lowell Collection will soon be safely stored in a secure vault, to which only I and the bank’s head of security know the code, and which cannot be opened unless both of us are present, with our keys.”
“That is indeed good news,” said Harbottle. “But you did say, with one exception?”
“And even that is now in my possession,” said Alex, as he handed over Mrs. Ackroyd’s letter. Once the lawyer had read it, Alex passed across a small painting to Mr. Harbottle.
“A Blue Jackie by Warhol,” said Harbottle. “I must say, this restores one’s faith in one’s fellow man.”
“Or even woman,” said Alex with a grin.
“But how did Mrs. Ackroyd get her hands on the painting?” asked Harbottle.
“She says Ackroyd gave it to her as part of their divorce settlement.”
“And how did he get hold of it?”
“Evelyn Lowell-Halliday, would be my bet,” said Alex. “A reward for services rendered, no doubt.”
“Which gives me an idea,” said Harbottle. He paused for a moment before saying, “But if I’m to pull it off, I’ll need to borrow Jackie for a few days.”
“Of course,” said Alex, well aware that there would be no point in asking him why.
Harbottle wrapped up the painting, and placed it carefully in his Gladstone bag. “I’ve wasted enough of your time, chairman,” he said as he rose from his seat, “so I’ll be on my way.”
Alex was unable to resist a smile as he accompanied Mr. Harbottle to the door. But once again, the old gentleman took him by surprise.
“Now we know each other a little better, I think you should call me Harbottle.”
* * *
It wasn’t difficult for Alex to work out why Jake Coleman and Doug Ackroyd were never going to be able to work together. Coleman was so clearly an honest, decent, straightforward man, who believed the team was far more important than any individual. Whereas Ackroyd …
The two of them met for lunch at Elena 3, as Alex was confident that was the one place in Boston Ackroyd and his cronies would never patronize.
“Why did you leave Lowell’s?” asked Alex, once they’d both ordered a Congressman special.
“I didn’t leave the bank,” said Jake, “I was fired.”
“Can I ask why?”
“I felt someone had to inform the chairman that his sister’s gambling habit had got out of control, and that if she was allowed to go on borrowing indiscriminately, the bank would surely go bust.”
“How did Ackroyd respond?” said Alex as two sizzling pizzas were placed in front of them.
“Told me to mind my own business if I knew what was good for me.”
“And you clearly didn’t.”
“No. I warned Ackroyd that if he didn’t inform the chairman of what was going on behind his back, then I would. Which was as good as signing my own death warrant, because I was fired the next day.”
“And did you tell Lawrence the truth?”
“I wrote to him immediately,” said Jake, “even set up an appointment to see him. But he asked if it could wait until after the election, and as that was only a few weeks away, I readily agreed.”
“And you haven’t been able to find a suitable position since?”
“No. At least not at the same level I had at Lowell’s. Ackroyd made sure of that.”
“I’m surprised he still has that sort of influence in banking circles.”
“He has enemies, that’s for sure, but whenever I applied for a job, the first person they’d contact was the CEO of the last bank I’d worked for.”
Alex could almost hear Ackroyd whispering confidentially: Between you and me, the man can’t be trusted. The one word in banking that would have closed every door.
“So, if I were to offer you a job, would you consider coming back?”
“No. At least not while Ackroyd is still on the board. I don’t need to be sacked twice.”
“But if Ackroyd were to resign?”
“Wild horses won’t move him while he still has a majority on the board, and while Evelyn owns fifty percent of the stock, what’s the point?”
“You may well be right,” said Alex, “because I can’t pretend that my own position is all that secure. And even if that were to change, I still can’t guarantee the bank will survive. However, I am convinced that if you were to climb back on board, we’d have a lot better chance.”
“What makes you so confident of that, when you don’t even know me?”
“But I do know Bob Underwood, and Pamela Robbins, and if those two are willing to vouch for you, that’s good enough for me.”
“That is indeed a compliment. So if you are able to get rid of Ackroyd and his cronies, I will be happy to continue in my old job as the bank’s financial officer.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” said Alex. Jake looked disappointed. “I was rather hoping you’d be willing to take over Ackroyd’s position, and return to Lowell’s as the chief executive.”
* * *
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Alex, looking around the table to see only one unoccupied chair. “I will ask Mr. Fowler to read the minutes of the last meeting.”
The company secretary rose from his place and opened the minute book. “The board met on March eighteenth,” he began, “and among the matters discussed…”
Alex’s mind drifted back to the hastily called meeting held in Harbottle’s office the previous evening that had lasted until the early hours of the morning. They had both come to the reluctant conclusion that the numbers were stacked against him, well aware that Evelyn was in Boston. He glanced at the empty chair. But if Evelyn didn’t turn up, he might still be in with a chance.
By the time Alex had arrived home, Anna was fast asleep. He decided not to wake her and burden her with his news. He placed a hand on his future son or daughter, a little mound of would-be-life keen to get out and join the world. He climbed into bed, desperate for sleep, but his mind didn’t rest, even for a moment, like a convicted murderer the night before being strapped into the electric chair.
He snapped back into the real world when Fowler said, “That concludes the minutes of the last meeting. Are there any questions?”
Still no sign of Evelyn.
There were no questions, not least because everyone around that table knew only too well what the first item on the agenda was.
“Item number one is the selection of a new chairman,” said Alex as the door opened and Evelyn burst into the room. Alex cursed as he looked at the woman who’d so captivated him when they’d first met. He could see why men fell so completely under her spell, if only for a short time. Jardine and Ackroyd both rose to greet her, and she took the empty place between
them.
“I apologize for being late,” said Evelyn, “but I needed to consult my lawyer on a personal matter before I attended the meeting.”
Which lawyer, Alex wondered, and what personal matter?
“I was about to invite nominations for the post of chairman,” said Fowler, “following the tragic death of your brother.”
Evelyn nodded. “Please don’t let me hold you up,” she said, smiling warmly at the company secretary.
Mr. Jardine was quickly back on his feet. “I’d like to place on record my admiration for the way Mr. Karpenko has temporarily filled the gap while we looked for a more suitably qualified candidate to be our next chairman. I believe that, for the long-term future of the company, that person is Doug Ackroyd. We will all recall what an outstanding job he did as the bank’s CEO.”
“Almost brought the company to its knees,” muttered Bob Underwood, loudly enough for his fellow board members to hear.
Jardine ignored the sotto voce interruption and plowed on. “I therefore have no hesitation in proposing our former CEO, Mr. Douglas Ackroyd, to be the next chairman of Lowell’s Bank.”
“Do we have a seconder?” asked Fowler.
“I shall be delighted to second the nomination,” said Alan Gates, coming in bang on cue.
“Another of the fifty-thousand-dollar-a-year expenses brigade,” said Underwood, “making sure the gravy train rolls on in perpetuity.”
“Thank you,” said Fowler. “If there are no further nominations, all that is left for me to do is call for a vote. Those in favor of Mr. Doug Ackroyd being elected as our next chairman, please raise your hands.”
Six hands were raised.
“On a point of order, Mr. Chairman.” The well-organized juggernaut suddenly ground to an unscheduled halt. “I feel I should point out,” said Underwood, “that under standing order 7.9 of the bank’s statutes, no one standing for the position of chairman can vote for himself.”
Alex smiled. Clearly Harbottle wasn’t the only person who’d been burning the midnight oil. There was some muttering among the board members while Fowler looked up that particular standing order.
“That appears to be correct,” he eventually managed.
“Well, what do you know?” said Underwood. “Our founding fathers weren’t that stupid after all.”
“However,” said Fowler, “Mr. Ackroyd still has five votes. I will now ask if anyone wishes to vote against?”
Five directors immediately raised their hands.
“Any abstentions?”
“Only me,” said Evelyn, in her most innocent voice.
Ackroyd was baffled, while Alex couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Then the vote is five each, with one abstention,” said Fowler.
“So what do we do now?” asked Tom Rhodes, a director who rarely spoke.
“I suggest Mr. Fowler reads standing order 7.10,” said Underwood, “and we just might find out.”
Fowler reluctantly turned the page and read out, “In the event of a tie, the chairman will have the casting vote.”
Everyone turned to face Alex, who didn’t hesitate before saying, “Against.” Even louder muttering broke out among the board members.
It was some time before Fowler, after once again checking the standing orders, asked, “Are there any other nominations?”
“Yes,” said Bob Underwood. “I propose that Mr. Alex Karpenko continue as our chairman, as no one can be in any doubt about the outstanding contribution he has made since he took over the chair.”
“I second the nomination,” said Rhodes.
Fowler resumed his role as arbitrator. “Those in favor, please raise their hands.” Only five hands shot up, as Alex couldn’t vote for himself.
Just as Fowler was about to ask for those against, Evelyn slowly raised her hand to join the other five. Fowler couldn’t have sounded more dismayed when he had to announce, “I declare Mr. Alex Karpenko to have been elected as the chairman of the Lowell Bank and Trust Company.”
Several members of the board burst into spontaneous applause, while Ackroyd was unable to hide first his disbelief, then his anger. He along with four other directors immediately rose from their places and left the room.
“Judas,” said Ackroyd, as he walked past Evelyn.
“More like the Good Samaritan!” shouted Underwood before the door slammed shut.
“They’ll be back,” said Alex with a sigh.
“I don’t think so,” said Evelyn quietly. She didn’t speak again until she was sure she had everyone’s attention.
“The reason I was a little late for the board meeting, gentlemen,” she said, “was because earlier this morning I had a visit from a senior officer with the Boston police department.” Every eye was fixed on her.
“It seems that a Blue Jackie by Andy Warhol was stolen from the Lowell Collection while Lawrence was serving in Vietnam.” She paused and took a sip of water, her hand trembling to show how distressed she was.
“When the officer told me the name of the culprit, I was so shocked, I immediately consulted my lawyer, who advised me to attend this meeting and make sure that Mr. Karpenko continues as chairman of the bank. I also felt it nothing less than my duty to assure the chief of police that when Mr. Ackroyd comes up for trial, I will be happy to appear as a state witness.”
Some of the directors nodded, while Alex remained puzzled.
“Congratulations,” said Underwood. “You single-handedly managed to remove five shits with one shovel.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Alex, once the laughter had died down. “Why would you be willing to support me?”
“Because who am I to disagree with my brother’s choice for chairman?” Not one of the remaining board members believed her for a moment, and they were even more surprised by her next statement. “And to that end, I would like to place on record that I am willing to sell my fifty percent holding in the company for one million dollars.”
Now Alex understood exactly why she needed Ackroyd out of the way. He was about to respond to her offer, when Miss Robbins burst into the room and handed him a slip of paper. He unfolded it, read the message, and smiled before rising to his feet.
“Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away from this meeting,” he said, “but the words ‘your wife’s gone into labor’ certainly can and will.” He was already on the move.
A second round of applause followed, and when Alex reached the door he turned and said, “Bob, will you take over the chair? I don’t think I’ll be back today.”
“There’s a taxi waiting for you,” Miss Robbins said as they went down in the elevator.
The cab sped off as if it was on the front of the grid at Daytona. Alex had to cling on to his seat as the driver swerved in and out of the traffic. Clearly the words “she’s in labor” created another gear.
By the time the taxi came to a screeching halt outside the hospital entrance fifteen minutes later, two police motorcycles were on their tail. Alex prayed they were both fathers. He took his wallet out, handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill, and ran inside.
“Your change!” shouted the driver, but Alex had long since disappeared.
He crossed the lobby to the front desk and gave the receptionist his name.
“Maternity unit, 6B, fourth floor,” she said, checking her screen and smiling. “Your wife got here just in time.”
Alex ran to the elevator, jumped in, and jabbed the number 4 several times, only to discover it didn’t make it move any faster. When the doors eventually slid open on the fourth floor, he walked quickly along the corridor until he came to a door marked 6B. He charged in to find Anna sitting up in bed, holding a little bundle in her arms. She looked up and smiled.
“Ah, here’s your father. What can have taken him so long?”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here in time,” said Alex, taking her in his arms. “Something unexpected came up at the office isn’t much of an excuse, but at least it’s true.”
/> “Meet your son and heir,” said Anna, handing him over.
“Hello, little fellow. Had a good day so far?”
“He’s doing fine,” said Anna. “But he’s quite anxious to find out what happened at the board meeting.”
“No need to be, his father’s still the chairman of Lowell’s Bank.”
“How come?”
“Evelyn gave me her casting vote.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s had to accept that the bank can no longer afford to pay out any more money, and perhaps more important, she won’t now be able to get her hands on the Lowell Collection.”
“But why would she roll over quite so easily?” said Anna.
“Jackie Kennedy came to our rescue,” said Alex.
“I’m lost.”
“It seems that the police had to arrest either Ackroyd or Evelyn for stealing the Warhol, while allowing the other to turn state’s evidence. No prizes for guessing which role Evelyn cast herself in. In fact she’s so desperate, she even offered to sell me her shares in the bank.”
“For how much?”
“A million dollars. Just a pity I don’t have that sort of money at the moment.”
“Let’s hope you don’t live to regret it,” said Anna.
There was a tap on the door, and a nurse poked her head into the room. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Karpenko, but there’s a traffic policeman outside who says he needs to see the evidence.”
BOOK FOUR
36
SASHA
Westminster, 1980
It would have been better if Mr. Sasha Karpenko MP had never left the Soviet Union, was the opening sentence in The Times’ leader that morning.
Sasha fell in love with the Palace of Westminster from the moment he walked through St. Stephen’s entrance, and joined his new colleagues in the Members’ Lobby. His mother burst into tears when he swore the oath before taking his place on the opposition back benches. As he held the Bible in his hand with members on both sides staring down at him as if he’d just arrived from another planet, it felt to Sasha like being the new boy at school.
Michael Cocks, the Labour chief whip, told him to keep his head down for the first few years. However, it didn’t take the whips long to realize they had a prodigious young talent on their hands who might not always be easy to handle. So when Sasha rose to make his maiden speech even the two front benches remained in their places to hear the member for Moscow, as the Conservatives referred to him. But Sasha had already decided to tackle that problem in its infancy.
Heads You Win Page 36
